


After The Storm

by SophiaCatherine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angry Sex, Discord: Flarrowverse Shipyard, F/F, F/F Friday, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Young Rogues, reaction fic s05e10, weatherghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 17:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: Josshowls.Lightning strikes above the warehouse, thunder rolling behind it. Joss shoves Raya forward towards the table—she falls back across it, blinking in surprise, tablet and papers blown every which way around her. Joss ends up sprawled above her, glaring down.And Raya just laughs beneath her. “Wow. Don’t get your way and you resort to violence? Well, aren’t you a little hurricane.” She leans up, whispers, “I like it,” in her ear.





	After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Ballycastle_Bat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballycastle_Bat/pseuds/Ballycastle_Bat) for beta reading this, and [Green_Sphynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx) for looking parts of it over for me.
> 
> Under-negotiated rough sex here - read at your own risk...
> 
> [If you want to skip the sex: it starts in earnest at "Winds pick up around them, harsh and cold..." and ends at the following scene cut.]

In a parking lot in Central City, there’s a storm blowing up.

Joss Jackam stands at the centre, staff lifted high above her head.

Dark clouds split clear blue skies apart. Lightning breaks across the sky, setting it alight with a crack of thunder that drowns out the noise in her head. A gale blasts in, setting her hair and jacket thrashing around her. She’s drenched... and laughing. Joss is the eye, standing spellbound in the centre. Here, everything’s okay. With her staff raised like a druid’s, calling down the forces of nature, no one can touch her. No one would dare.

The Silver Ghost fades into the doorway, watching her, arms crossed over her motorcycle jacket. Rain splatters across it, wind rippling the leather in waves across her arms, her breasts, but she doesn’t move. Not a single hair on her stupid immaculate head moves out of place.

Joss forces her gaze away from Raya, breathing back into the the downpour. The winds churn higher around her. She tries to keep steady—but she’s panting now, channeling everything inside her through the staff. Giving all that fury to the sky.

A condescending smirk crosses Raya’s face.

_Offering you a second chance... Weather Witch._

Joss lifts the staff higher and _screams_.

Far in the distance, the thunder calls back to her.

She tears her eyes away from the storm, back to the woman leaning in the doorway—those muscles, that controlled stare. All that _power_. Raya’s staying a safe distance from Joss, her eyes guarded.

Joss feels her fingers tighten around the staff.

The storm drops like rubble around her.

A voice echoes in the sudden, awful silence. “Are you coming in, or what?” Raya says, amused eyebrows raised.

The staff hangs limp in her hand, but Joss can still feel the tidal wave surging inside her.

* * *

Home base, Raya called it.

Joss hasn’t had a home for a long time, but she knows this is not homely. She takes a step inside the roll-up door behind Raya. The garage smells of damp and engine oil. She has no idea if there’s a kitchen or even a bathroom anywhere here. Whether Raya lives here or just… works out of here.

It’s cold in ways the weather staff couldn’t touch, and she wraps an arm around herself.

As a child, Joss spent years making up stories about Mark Mardon. He was a king in a castle. When she finally met him, he would lift his princess up in his arms and adore her. Not like her mother, who mostly pretended she wasn’t there. One day she was taken to a mostly-empty warehouse. A drip trickled slowly down the concrete wall. She played on a pile of broken furniture in the corner, scraped her knee, cried. And then her father finally looked at her—his face dark, threatening.

_I’ve got shit to do, Julie. You think this is any place for a kid? Get the brat outta here._

Back then, too, she’d had her little arms wrapped around herself against the cold.

Between a few other forced visits that neither of them wanted, she tried hard never to think about her father again. And failed, clearly. Here she is. Because of him.

And because of Raya.

( _Because of you_ , says the voice inside her, the one that sounds like her mother.)

Raya’s gone to her work table, staring at a tablet. Behind her, something loud and probably 90s-retro is blaring out of computer speakers. Looks like Joss has already been forgotten.

She tenses her grip on the staff. Sparks crackle at the end, an echo of thunder.

God, Joss could watch her all day, in that close-fitting leather jacket, dark hair falling behind her shoulders like rain, tiny smile playing on her sculptured lips.

She doesn’t want to think about the way Raya looked at her when the storm raged around them, when Joss had power at her fingertips. She doesn’t want to think about the way she looked at Raya, either, when that gorgeous car thundered to life under Raya’s goddamn gorgeous hands. (Ugh. Does she have to be so _hot?_ )

She _really_ doesn’t want to think about XS… Nora. (Any knucklehead could see the pretty young CSI from Joss's trial behind that black mask.) How the speedster changed like the wind, arriving one sudden and terrible moment with hate in her eyes, returning the next with that earnest speech over the radio. Forgiving Joss while she was trying to run her down.

( _You shouldn’t be forgiven_.)

Over at her work table, Raya has pulled up a picture of that journalist. Spencer Young. Joss has never met her, and she hates her already. “Young Rogues,” Joss says, aiming for a sneer. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

Focused on her screen, Raya doesn’t look up. Targeted—like a weapon. “I don’t see anyone else using the name.”

Joss runs her fingers down her staff. All that lightning just a minute ago, and it's cold already. “My dad worked for Leonard Snart.”

“Right, for like a week.” Raya glances up at her and laughs. “Oh my God. Your father so much as comes up in conversation, you get this thousand-yard stare. It’s so fucking cliched.”

There’s heat in Joss’s cheeks, and she slams the weather staff down. Sparks fly again, a warning.

But Raya just laughs, turning back to her tablet. “You’re such a child. How old even are you?”

She finds a stool behind her and perches on it. It’s got a leg loose. She wobbles silently, back and forth. “I turned 23 in jail,” she says, after a minute.

That was a bad day. Neither of her parents would take her call.

“Poor baby,” Raya taunts.

Joss pretends not to react to that. “You’re, what, 28?”

“Something like that.” 

“ _Young_ Rogues.” Joss laughs, trying for disdainful. “You’re practically Lisa Snart’s age.”

Raya’s eyes narrow at the screen, those unfairly perfect lips briefly pursing. “Don’t really care what you think.”

Joss aims the weather staff upwards, smiling at the bright crackles of lightning that dance across the dark ceiling. “But you really wanted me for your little girl gang. What do you even know about me?”

Raya shoves the tablet, and Spencer fucking Young, away across the table. “I know plenty. Let’s see…” Two hands on the table, pushes herself up. “Adrenaline junkie, clearly, with that storm chasing shit.”

Scoffing, Joss rolls her eyes back up to the damp roof. “Sure, and your car racing’s got nothing to do with that.”

“We’re not talking about me.” She takes a couple of slow steps forward across the space between them, her eyes just a little apprehensive on the weather staff that Joss is still gripping like a lifeline. “Hmm, what else? Daddy issues. Even based your alias on him. Dull." Her red lips thin out a little. "But you _were_ willing to kill him, so at least you’re not all talk." Her voice turns singsong, mocking. “You don't see your mother, either. So sad.”

Joss can feel the cold metal of the staff in her hand as her fingers close tighter around it.

Raya takes a step closer, arms folded. Every inch of her is the soldier, a tight coil ready to spring out. “Love that you’re totally self-taught, with the weather science. But then you got obsessed...” She sounds almost sincere, and Joss frowns. “Obsession’s good. I can use that.”

Joss shrugs, uneasy under Raya’s sharp gaze. _Use_. “I found other ways to make ends meet.”

Another step closer, and her smile is almost predatory. “Really? Spill.”

Like she’s telling this asshole anything. She knows too much about Joss already. Deadlock. That doesn't last long, in nature. Warm air fighting cold creates cyclones, and they destroy anything that stands in their way.

“Fuck you,” Joss snarls.

Raya takes one more step closer. Joss can feel warm breath on her face. “Yes please,” Raya purrs, eyes flashing with teasing and… something else.

Joss tries to mirror her commanding stance, arms folded across her own chest, but she probably just looks like a petulant child. “So you know stuff about me. And you’re taking advantage.”

Raya just grins. Power sparks in her eyes.

_What can it do?_

_Let's find out..._

Joss swallows, doesn’t let herself look away. “Why are you so set on me staying?”

Raya lays a steady hand on her shoulder. Joss’s breath catches. “We’re both the best at what we do. Think of the things we could do together.” She’s planted like a mountain in front of Joss—and, oh, Joss is thinking about it now. “You, me, and the others,” Raya goes on, oblivious.

 _Others_.

Joss drops her eyes to the gray floor. “I don’t know if I... want this.”

Raya’s shrug is skeptical. “Didn't turn yourself in, did you? You had enough good sense to run from that speedster.”

“Leave her out of this.” 

Laughing, Raya rolls her eyes. “Sure, hon.”

“It’s not like you’re so innocent!” Joss yells. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “You tried to kill XS. I didn’t _mean_ to hurt anyone—”

“—Just your father,” Raya interrupts casually.

“That was a mistake. I didn’t want any of this!” She slams the staff down, hard, against concrete. More sparks fly down from the ceiling, and Raya flinches, just a little. Something wild in Joss _delights_ in that brief widening of fear in her eyes.

“Then maybe you should have thought of that _before_ you unleashed a lightning tornado on hundreds of people. Really are as fickle as the wind, aren’t you?” She snorts. “Fine. Go find somewhere else to waste your time—if you think you can. Know anything about life on the run as a convicted criminal, Joss?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Joss mutters, her free hand coming up into her hair. She’s drowning under a wave of truth.

( _You're a criminal. You have nowhere to go._ )

Something dark crosses Raya’s face. “The system won’t care. Didn’t you learn that at your trial? People out there…” She waves a hand towards the warehouse door, showing off flawless black nails. “They hate metas and people with meta tech—unless you’re lucky enough to be in the Flash’s inner circle, and _you’re_ not. They don’t want repentant Joss Jackam. They want the wicked Weather Witch, daughter of evil Mark Mardon.” With a crooked half-smile, Raya reaches out, strokes a hand across Joss’s cheek. “it's destiny worse than a fairy tale, hon. Don't fight it. Be who they want you to be. Be the best at it.” She smiles, and Joss has to tear her eyes away from those sumptuous lips. She licks her own.

She shakes her head tightly, the desperate place inside her flaring up again. “This is your fault! I pled _guilty_. I wanted to pay for what I did. _You_ made me come with you.”

Raya’s eyes narrow. “Pretty sure I offered you a choice, hon. You really regretting taking it?”

Fists clenched, one on the staff, one by her side. “I… I don’t know, okay!”

But Raya’s scoffing, turning away. Back to Spencer fucking Young, and all the others. Joss forgotten. Again.

Joss _howls_. Lightning strikes above the warehouse, thunder rolling behind it. Joss shoves Raya forward towards the table—she falls back across it, blinking in surprise, tablet and papers blown every which way around her. Joss ends up sprawled above her, glaring down.

And Raya just laughs beneath her. “Wow. Don’t get your way and you resort to violence? Well, aren’t you a little hurricane.” She leans up, whispers, “I like it,” in her ear.

She grabs Raya by the shoulders, thrusts her back down again. She doesn’t care that Raya’s fucking hot. She _doesn’t._ She’s had it with this shit.

A moment later they’re kissing, urgent and tempestuous, Raya pushing back up against her like a savage wind. Joss feels all that power coursing through her again, the same electricity she felt with Silver Ghost beside her as she raised a thunderstorm under a purple sky.

Raya’s hands are in her hair, pulling, and God, she’s strong. Joss manages to pin her down anyway, kissing her back harder. Her own hands tangle in Raya’s shirt, reaching beneath it. Something like a bolt of lightning breaks through her, raw and brutal. She looks up and _hates_ Raya, with her impeccable jacket and hair and makeup. She’s going to _wreck_ them all.

Raya growls and flips her over on the table. Joss should have guessed she'd want to be in control. Raya’s up on one knee above her, an arm across Joss’s chest, eyes blazing. So there is something that can break through that perfect, unflappable exterior, after all.

Trembling, Joss pulls an arm out of Raya’s hold, reaching out to grab the weather staff where she let it fall onto the table beside them.

Raya splutters out a laugh. “Seriously?” She sits back on her knees, running a hand across that goddamn exquisite hair, still perfectly in place.

Joss glares and ignores her, one hand raising the staff vertically above them.

Winds pick up around them, harsh and cold. Joss’s hair whips around her face. She’s forced back as Raya anchors her down, sucking on her neck. Joss is gasping, flooded. Raya presses her harder into the hard, cold table beneath, pulling Joss’s shirt up and away, then going to work on her bra. The metal surface of the table buzzes and crackles beneath the Weather Witch’s skin, charged by the lightning breaking above them.

She lifts a secret smile upwards. _I made that_. Let Raya have this. She’s a picture of control and focus, unmoved in the hurricane, and Joss wonders just how much Raya needs this. Joss, with all her storm chasing, all her wild, capricious forces raging inside, knows who she’d rather be.

“This okay?” Raya mutters, and Joss gives a hesitant nod, then, when Raya pauses, a more decisive one. She feels the rough fabric of her borrowed mechanic’s jacket as it’s slipped over her arms, her leggings sliding slowly down her legs. She shivers in the damp garage, for a moment, before Raya’s warm, unhurried hands glide up her exposed thighs. Raya’s fingertips skirt Joss’s pussy and pull away, so light, so _controlled_ that Joss wants to scream with frustration.

Raya’s flawless hands tease and tease, _finally_ pushing inside her, then pulling back out, caressing her folds, pushing back in again.

She can barely breathe, two fists tight by her sides on the table. Raya is easing off her hold on her now, just one hand on her shoulder as the other expertly strokes and fingers Joss, who’s still gasping for air like a drowning woman in a tsunami. Fuck, her clit is _throbbing_ , but Joss refuses to beg. Especially when Raya aims a knowing smirk down at her.

“Oh yeah, you like that, baby?” she hears, growled in her ear. Warm breath prickles on her cheek, every part of her still so sensitive after the nearby lightning.

“ _Yes_ ,” Joss hisses. “Don’t stop.”

Raya’s chuckle is oddly soothing. “I got you, baby. Relax.” Her hand lets go of Joss’s shoulder, comes down to brush soft strokes across her breasts, beneath her neck. “I’m in charge.”

Joss grabs Raya’s tight, denim-clad ass, tries to pull down her jeans, and a firm hand clamps over hers. “Stop that," she says in Joss’s ear. "I told you. _Relax._ ” Distant thunder rumbles behind her her voice.

She obeys, lying back with her head against the solid surface beneath her, closing her eyes. She hardly notices the wind dying away around them into silence. She gives in to the pleasure, letting go, focusing on Raya’s strong, safe hands. It’s as good as the wildest storms she’s ever chased—the power of something stronger wrapped around her, and Joss safe in the calm of it. And God does she need that right now.

Everything quiets, till there’s nothing but Raya, above her and inside her.

Raya is stroking her clit, lightly at first, then firmer. Waves surge, crashing over and over her.

Joss gasps her way through the climax of the storm, Raya’s beautiful hands coaxing her in and out of it. “I got you, baby,” she says again, a calm, safe whisper in her ear.

An anchor.

Reaching out for the staff again, Joss finds it next to her with a gentle touch. Rain falls, soft and slow and warm. They lie there for a while, drenched, entangled in each other’s arms on the table, skin to wet skin.

* * *

Afterwards, clammy and half naked, they find their way to the old leather couch. Joss is shivering. With an unreadable but soft look at her, Raya pulls a blanket over them both.

The weather staff is draped across Joss's lap. It keeps her at a safe distance from Raya. They don’t cuddle—it doesn’t seem to be Raya’s style. She’s tightly wound, military order containing something deep and simmering underneath. Her fucking perfect hair is, of course, still flawlessly in place. Joss snorts, and Raya raises an unanswered eyebrow.

They sit there, listening to the wind crying outside.

“Your doing?” Raya asks, glancing over at her with a little smile.

Joss shakes her head. “Too tired.” She holds up a hand in the air. “I can feel it, though.” She nods at the staff, her other hand lightly resting on. “It connects me. To… everything.”

Raya’s eyes sparkle. “Connects you, huh?” She reaches out, hesitant, and Joss nods. She wraps her fingers around Joss’s free hand. “Maybe you’re not just an adrenaline junkie after all.” Raya shifts in her seat, turning to look properly at her. “You really didn’t want to be a career criminal?”

She shakes her head tightly, her stomach clenching again.

“Then why did you do it—any of it?”

Joss glances away. In a corner, there’s a drip trickling slowly down the concrete wall.

“Saw an opportunity.” She looks back at Raya, who’s gazing at her. Consumed. Like Joss in a storm.

Joss likes it.

She tunes back in to the computer, still playing the same angry, swoopy-voiced singer. “What's the music?”

“Tori Amos.”

She laughs. “Of course it is.”

She slips the staff to the ground, moving closer to Raya, tangling their hands tighter together. Perfect black nails slide softly across ragged, bitten ones.

Raya rolls her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Think it’ll rain?”

“Nah.” Joss slides in against Raya’s side, just a little bit warmer and safer than she was. “It’ll be clear skies for a bit, now.”

The rest, she can figure out later.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments very welcome. I always reply!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://sophiainspace.tumblr.com/), [dreamwidth](https://sophia-catherine.dreamwidth.org/) or pillowfort.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A different ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484351) by [Lord_Robbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Robbie/pseuds/Lord_Robbie)




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